


Eros and Apollo

by Elpie (Horribibble)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Animated GIFs, Athlete Iron Bull, Blow Jobs, Idiots in Love, Illustrated, M/M, Pop Culture, Pop Culture Figure Dorian, Social Media, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krem physically drags himself away from the pillows to check the lock screen. The most recent message draws his eye with all of the magnetism of a train wreck.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>i think i’m in love</em></p><p> </p><p>Oh shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And All He Keeps Inside Isn't On the Label

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlitShadowflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlitShadowflame/gifts).



> [Lilsoutherncuss](http://lilsoutherncuss.tumblr.com/) prompted: Pro sports guy Bull meets major politician’s kid Dorian and both are relieved the other has never heard of them because they have playboy reputations and this time they wanna play for keeps.
> 
> And then I started talking to [EarlGreyer](http://earlgreyer1.tumblr.com/) about these idiots and I was _doomed._
> 
> So here you go, Sad Glitter Mage and the Fucked Up Hallmark Card Take Over the Internet.

Krem wakes up around 5:27 AM on Sunday morning to the sound of Nicki Minaj chanting, “I’m a boss ass bitch!” in starts and stops, over and over and over. 

The text tone was a short one, which means that Bull is texting him near  _incessantly_ , and the last time this happened, he’d hooked up with a pair of twin redheads who’d convinced him to go skinny dipping in a fountain in the middle of a tourist area and Krem had to bail them all out of jail. 

Coach had nearly gone  _apopleptic,_ even if Josie had thought it was sort of funny. 

Krem physically drags himself away from the pillows to check the lock screen. The most recent message draws his eye with all of the magnetism of a train wreck. 

_i think i’m in love_

Oh shit. 

He hurries to unlock the phone, scrolling frantically to get to the earliest message, coming in around midnight, shortly after he’d begged off to get some sleep like a normal human being.  

_you’re going to regret shitting out on us krem_

_dalish and skinner are taking us to a gay bar_

_it’s going to be fucking magical and you’re missing it_

There’s a twenty minute interval, then...

_holy shit everything is covered in edible body glitter and strobe lights_

_krem i’m gonna lick EVERYTHING_

Another fifteen minutes...

_especially this guy_

Then there’s a selfie of Bull and a man who looks eerily familiar. The first thing Krem notices is the ridiculous moustache that  _somehow_ works on his face, followed by the stupidly smitten look he’s leveling at Bull, and then the fact that, despite  _glowing_ with sweat and the aforementioned body glitter, he still looks immaculately kept. 

Probably some sort of demon pact or... _oh._ Well, fuck. 

Bull managed to land himself cheek to cheek and reputation to reputation with none other than Dorian fucking Pavus. This is going to be magical. The kind of magical that ends with everything in flames. 

Krem bites down on his tongue and continues scrolling. 

_his name has a D and an ian i can’t hear for shit in here_

_i’ll ask him again later_

_hell krem he does this thing where he looks up from his eyelashes and checks to see if im still here?_

_i think he’s sad krem_

_how can you be sad when you’re covered in glitter_

Another twenty minutes go by. 

_krem he has no fucking idea who i am_

_he’s hot and funny and he wants to fuck me_

_but i just want to keep talking to him because he’s sad and sparkly_

_what the fuck is going on_

_his skin is so soft_

Another forty minutes after that, Bull texted:

_okay fuck there’s a chance this guy is in a gang or some shit because some fucks are chasing us_

_and you won’t pick up the phone_

_he wanted to hook up in the bathroom but there was a guy with a fucking dagger. the ceremonial kind. like the size of my forearm_

_what the fuck what the fuck if i die tell them i went down swinging_

_literally_

_i just fuckin ripped the handicapped rail off the wall and aimed for his nose_

_was a beautiful swing krem_

_coach would be proud_

Another five minutes--and, honestly, Krem is both impressed and horrified that Bull has managed to keep up this sort of detailed commentary while running for his life in some kind of twisted gay Bonnie and Clyde hell night--and the messages continue:

_dorian and i_

_his name is dorian_

_and we’re hiding out at anders’ clinic_

_i’m getting answers out of this fucker_

_maybe a blowjob i don’t know_

_i want to punch him and kiss him all at once_

Krem hopes he didn’t punch Dorian. Judging from the news that trickles in from his family back in Minrathous, the Pavus heir is probably a hair’s breadth from going down in a blaze of veilfire as it is. This sounds a whole lot like classical magisterium bullshit, and Krem doesn’t envy Bull a bit.

He slides out of bed and goes looking for a serviceable pair of pants, just in case.

Twenty minutes after the last message:

_so i didn’t punch him_

“Fucking good for you, you ridiculous bastard.” Krem grumbles, hopping about as he tugs on his socks. He plops down on the floor when he catches the next message.

_he cried, krem_

_and i wish to the maker i’d kept swinging that fucking bar_

_he’s got scars_

_from his old man, krem_

_apparently the bastard’s in politics?_

_i want to hunt him the fuck down_

_he fell asleep in my arms and all i can do is text you about it_

_he sleeps like a kid_

_all curled up_

_who the hell can hurt someone who sleeps like this_

_who could do that to their kid_

_to dorian_

_fuck_

-

2:15 AM - Sunday Morning. A shithole clinic in Darktown.

Apparently, he’s been jabbing at the specialized keyboard harder than he thought, because Dorian stirs against his chest.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Bull.”

“Ain’t your fault, kid.”

The smaller man laughs, but the sound is tired and wet. Bull sets the phone down to better hold him, carding thick fingers through his hair. Dorian tenses up briefly, like it’s instinct to defend his perfect hairstyle to the bitter end, but he deflates almost as quickly, relaxing into the touch. “I haven’t been a child for quite some time.”

“I gathered.”

“I just wanted to forget for a night. I wish it could have been more simple.”

“Coulda been worse.”

Dorian pulls away from his chest just enough to hit him with a disbelieving stare. “We’re hiding out in a hole in the wall clinic run by a radical mage rights activist because my father’s put a price on my head, what do you  _usually_ do on Saturday night?!”

“Well, I’ve already had my dick sucked, and we’ve made it to Sunday without ending up in jail.”

“You’re completely mad.”

Bull shrugs, and Dorian lets his head thump back against the firm muscles of his chest, arms winding tighter around his ribs. They’re too short to reach all the way around. “Sorry about your night, kid.”

“No. You have a point. There have been...redeeming qualities.”

“Like my dick?” Bull grins.

Dorian laughs so hard he tears up again, and Bull tilts his face up to kiss his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. He makes it to the man’s lips even as he says, “Like you.”

And then it’s all tongue and teeth and even though he’s hard again with a lapful of glittery, issue-ridden mage, he can’t stop smiling.

“It’ll get better.” He says, sliding a hand just under the waistband of Dorian’s painted-on jeans to cup his stiff dick. “That, or I’ll break a few more faces. I’ve got a helluva swing, y’know.”

“You’re like the world’s most terrifying Hallmark card. I love it.”

He seems to love the handjob only slightly less.

-

A full three hours after what was apparently a rather depressing heart to heart, the next message from Bull came in:

_anders tried to give him some of that potato pancake stuff and he made the same face you do_

_we’re going to find a breakfast place that uses ‘legitimate seasoning and leaves a majority of the ingredients unboilt’_

_direct quote_

_with the little ‘t’ at the end_

_we’re holding hands_

_it’s 5 in the morning and nothing is even open_

_and we’re holding hands_

_his hand is so small_

_and he keeps huffing at me because i’m texting you_

_because if i don’t i’m going to fucking melt or something_

_something’s wrong with me krem_

-

5:28 AM - The Streets of Kirkwall, looking for a diner or something.

“Are you writing home about me?” Dorian teases, and Bull pulls him back by the hand, just gently, just so he stumbles back into his chest.

“Promise not to call me crazy?”

“It’s too late for that, Bull. But I promise to be forgiving.”

“Right, then.”

He shows Dorian the screen.

_i think I’m in love._

“You’re absolutely mental.” Dorian says, but he pulls him down into a hard, wet kiss.

-

Krem texts back,

_Let me know when you idiots are done hand feeding each other Cholula-covered pancakes. I’ll give you a ride home._


	2. You Get to Me the Good Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Status update: Qunari are secretly touch-starved octopi, glitter everywhere. 
> 
>  
> 
> _How do I scramble an egg???_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This literally would not have happened without EarlGreyer.
> 
> Bless your face. 
> 
> And to lilsoutherncuss -- I hope you're happy. This has gone so far afield. 
> 
> The chapter title is from "Gold Rays" by Vinyl Pinups, and it is exactly as cheerful as it sounds.

The truth is, the morning after--or well, that same morning, after they ate breakfast and hitched a ride back to Bull’s place from Krem--Dorian couldn’t have run away if he’d wanted to. They’d crashed on Bull’s bed, much softer than the cots in Anders’ clinic, and Bull had passed right out, his arms wound around Dorian like a safety net.

For a few moments, he basked in it, listening to the rumbling, purring noises the qunari made in his sleep and watching his face smooth out, finally relaxed. And then he got fidgety. His attempts to get up were met only with a more complicated tangling of limbs.

It’s like sharing a bed with a warm, lonely octopus.

So he pulls out his phone and opens his group text.

-

I’ve had an adventure.

_It’s 7 in the morning and you’re texting us to tell us about your latest conquest? Darling, can’t you take the walk of shame alone?_

(In his mind’s eye, he can imagine Mae’s beautiful golden hair transforming into a tangle of angry, venomous snakes. She, like him, does not enjoy having her sleep interrupted by _morning people._ )

I haven’t left.

**Are you tied to something?**

(Felix has done his fair share of getting Dorian _un_ tied from things. He has a pair of bolt-cutters and a can-do attitude when it comes to extracting Dorian from unfavorable situations. Bless him.)

Ha. Funny. Also sort of.

**How are you sort of tied to something?**

_Sweetheart, no._

**Never mind. Never mind.**

I wanted to get up and make breakfast in bed. Well, second breakfast. He took me out for pancakes but that was an hour ago.

 _How do you not weigh four hundred pounds?_  

**You wanted to leave bed before the sun rose to do a nice thing for another person?**

**I’m so jealous.**

_I know!_

Piss off, both of you.

**I don’t understand what’s happening.**

He's just nice, that's all. I want to.

**I’m nice and you don’t cook for me.**

(He’s a shining star, really. And a morning person. The cad.)

_That’s because he’d likely kill you, darling._

Shut up. Shut up.

_So why don’t you cook something?_

In addition to the drooling and the purring, there also happens to be a great deal of grappling involved.

_This is too good._

**Photo or no go.**

That’s not the phrase, you’re awful.

_Just send the picture, you pompous ass._

-

Dorian sighs, levers himself up, and snaps a photo of Bull’s sleeping face. Honestly, he doesn’t think the other man will mind, and if he does, it’s his own damn fault for being so…

Ugh.

-

_Isn’t that the athlete that’s been trying to fuck every redhead in Fereldan?_

**The Steel Boar?**

The Iron Bull.

And not anymore.

-

Eventually, with a great deal of ribbing from his friends and some creative maneuvering, he manages to weasel-shimmy his way out of Bull’s vice-like embrace. He does _not_ fall flat on the floor. It’s more like a controlled descent. Onto his face.

He snatches his phone off of the bed and goes off to find the kitchen.

-

Felix you said you would always be here for me.

_I didn’t._

**How are you grown and living by yourself without knowing how to operate a toaster??**

_I could sell all of this to the tabloids. So easily._

It would be terribly gauche of you, dear.

_Much like you waking me up at this hour to hold your hand whilst you scramble an egg?_

We both know you have no need for beauty sleep.

_Flatterer._

**Hold on let me google it.**

-

Felix texts him step by step instructions on how to scramble an egg while Maevaris finds new and increasingly fanciful ways to let him know he’s the worst sort of idiot. He doesn’t feel at all insulted, not really. He loves them both.

And then Felix decides to google The Iron Bull.

-

**AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.**

**AHAHAHAHA.**

**AAAAAHAHAHAHA.**

_Now look, you’ve broken Felix._

_Oh, look, Dorian. He’s found a picture of you._

You’re horrid.

_Felix my sweet boy there is a special place in hell._

What the fuck, man?

**You've managed to find the one person who's a bigger camera whore than you are. He's lifting his shirt in literally every photo where he's wearing one.**

_Let me see._

**Google The Iron Bull. Do it.**

(A few moments, then…)

_MAKER._

_This search is a train wreck. A beautiful train wreck._

_Goodness those pectorals. Is it true what they say about qunari equipment?_

YOU’RE MARRIED.

_Married? Yes. Dead? No._

-

His morning descends into a nonstop stream of haranguing and madness from there, but at least he doesn’t burn the toast, and the eggs probably won’t kill them. Probably.

-

_Felix go look at his Instagram._

_@hunglikea_

_Bless him._

You can’t be serious.

_Love, you’ve no room to judge._

It’s witty.

_It’s daddy issues, the url._

_Now your Bull, on the other hand…_

**I feel so inadequate.**

**I need to bench press something.**

Maker Felix don’t hurt yourself.

_It’s a shrine to fitness and poor life decisions._

_Like Dorian’s, but with significantly less makeup._

I hate you you’re awful.

_Lies, darling, and you know it._

(She’s some kind of twisted supernatural entity that feeds off of humiliation. Which explains why she’s been friends with them for so very long.)

**Mae I checked his Twitter.**

**#Ridethebull**

_Oh Maker no_

**Dorian don’t look. Or do. I mean would you be jealous?**

Getting there.

_Don’t be. You’re easily the only ten he’s slept with in months._

_-_

He figures out how to keep the food warm long enough for him to go wake his sleeping cohort, or at least cuddle up beside him, but pauses to look back at the phone screen. For courage, maybe, or a proper laugh. His friends are awful and he adores them.

They’ve helped so much throughout the shitshow his life has become.

-

_Does this make Dorian a #bullwrangler._

Why

**I don’t know Dorian**

**Sounds like #bullshit to me**

You need Andraste. Both of you.

_Says the reprobate with horse dicks stuck to his living room wall._

_I wonder how they match up._

Why is your husband not awake and keeping you occupied yet?

_You brought this on yourself, dear._

_Remember?_

-

He can’t help it.

He smiles and goes to grab a carton of orange juice from the fridge, and that’s how Bull finds him, standing on his toes to reach the glasses in the cabinet, the qunari’s borrowed shirt riding up to reveal the slightest hint of perfect ass cheek.

Technically speaking, he’s verging on ‘tastefully nude’.

(Honestly, could Dorian ever _be_ ‘distastefully’ nude?)

Which is how Bull words it when Josephine calls him an hour and a half later, after the media shitstorm begins.

Bull’s Instagram now features a picture of his cute Tevene lover in the kitchen, captioned:

**Couldn’t scramble an egg if his designer jeans depended on it, but @portraitofdoriangay is pretty damn sweet anyway.**

-

_At least you weren’t dressed solely in an apron._

_That would be horribly cliche._

**I hate it when I see your ass.**

**I hate it.**

**I love you, but never once has your ass been a good omen.**

_It’s the asspocalypse._

**The Dori-end of Days**

We used to have polite conversations.

_And then we hit puberty._

_Careful, you’re starting to sound mature._

**Times are changing.**

_Yet he’s still covered in glitter._

Fuck off I’m taking a nap.

_Follow your dreams, Dorian._

**#Ridethebull**

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maevaris may or may not hate minions with the passion of a thousand compressed suns.


	3. How You Laughed When You Said My Name (Any How You Held My Hips So Mean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t end up taking a nap. At least, not for an hour or so. Dorian intends to, for all of three minutes, before he finishes up with the dishes and wanders back into the bedroom. 
> 
> Bull is waiting on the bed, not a stitch on him, and he is very, very awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally earn an E rating. Hell yeah!  
> I feel like I should commission someone to illustrate these posts. x3
> 
> Title is from "Strange Love" by Halsey. The subject matter should come into play soon.

They don’t end up taking a nap. At least, not for an hour or so. Dorian intends to, for all of three minutes, before he finishes up with the dishes and wanders back into the bedroom.

Bull is waiting on the bed, not a stitch on him, and he is very, very awake.

“You got started without me?”

In the bright light of day, Bull is just as long and thick as he’d felt in Dorian’s palm, his mouth and throat. Just looking at the other man’s dick leaves him feeling full and warm, and he won’t deny that his mouth waters a bit.

-

Sucking cock has never really been Dorian’s favorite activity. He’s damn good at it, certainly, as he is at everything else. He _loves_ the ability to blow someone’s mind, to have a lover at his absolute mercy, but he hates it when clumsy fingers rumple and tug at his hair.

But last night, what Bull did...he hadn’t minded at all.

The balance had shifted just slightly, just enough, and rather than a slightly narcissistic chore, it had become an exploration. A challenge.

He’d never taken someone as large as Bull in his mouth before, and the task had been admittedly daunting. But then there had been Bull’s fingers on his chin and cheek, running up to the shell of his ear.

He had been inclined to experiment, departing from the usual rush to the finish and focusing on finding exactly how to curve his tongue and nip, just there, just lightly. He’d taken the time to kiss and tease and blow cool air across the slick tip, and all the while, Bull had watched him so intently.

There’d been none of the usual degrading bullshit. He’d cradled Dorian’s head, just enough to guide him, but never applying force. He’d whispered about how _good_ Dorian was, how brave and funny and _perfect_ and he’d tilted his chin up so they could lock eyes while Dorian took him deeper, inch by inch.

Until he could feel the qunari’s cock twitching in his throat, until he couldn’t help grinding against Anders’ shitty cot. He’d never gotten off on sucking cock before, but it had been like the rumble of Bull’s voice and the sight of the man coming apart between his lips shot straight through him.

He _wanted_ Bull’s words, his approval, the sensation of those strong thigh muscles tensing under his hands even as the man forced himself not to buck into the warm, wet hole. Thick fingers ruffled the damp hair at the nape of his neck and he’d _whined_ around the cock in his mouth, his hips grinding _hard_ into the sheets.

“ _Dorian,_ ” Bull had warned, and that had been it. A flood of warmth, coughing, tears in his eyes even as he trembled through his own orgasm, and then being wrapped up tight against Bull’s firm chest.

-

And then there had been the handjob, with Bull’s attention focused entirely on bringing him right to the edge and nearly _torturing_ him with the intensity of it all. Dorian had whined and rutted and shaken apart with his teeth sunk into the meat of the bigger man’s shoulder, his head filled with _Good boy_ and _that’s it_ and _I’ve got you._

He’d _wanted_ that. Wanted to belong to Bull, with no other ties to the world. He’d wanted to be Bull’s sweet, good boy. He’d wanted those eyes on him and no one else.

Now, sprawled out on his big, messy bed with a hand wrapped around his dick, Bull’s eyes are just as bright and intent. He eyes the bottom hem of Dorian’s borrowed shirt like he can melt it off with his gaze alone. He grins, “You gonna stand there and watch?”

In fewer than thirty seconds, the shirt is pooled on the floor and Dorian is sliding into Bull’s lap, weight shifted up on his knees for whatever height advantage he can gain over his qunari lover. Bull chuckles, low and grating, and if Dorian’s dick hadn’t already taken a healthy interest, that certainly would have urged it into action.

“That’s more like it.” One large, grey hand presses up and over the jut of his hip before sliding down to the toned curve of his ass. A thick finger presses at the muscle there, and Dorian rolls his hips suggestively before leaning in to nip at a pointed ear, careful not to crack his head on a horn.

“Are you going to be good to me, Bull?”

He rolls his hips again, grinding their dicks together as he presses his palms against the sides of Bull’s thick throat so he can _feel_ his answering groan.  

“ _So_ good, sweet boy.” Bull nearly _purrs_ , adjusting his grip so that he can better press them together, his hips finding a matching pace. “You wanna ride me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I did make you breakfast. Are you really going to make me do _all_ the work?”

“Sweetheart, with a lapful of you, I couldn’t keep still if I tried.”

“An interesting idea for later.”

Bull grins at him until Dorian leans in to devour his mouth.

-

Bull is just as careful as Dorian had expected when he opens him up, those thick fingers carefully slicked and near torturously perfect inside him. He has a thing for bringing Dorian right up to the edge and backing him down until he’s whining openly into Bull’s mouth, fucking himself on those perfect fingers.

It’s worse when Dorian pulls back for air, panting and laughing, because even in the middle of driving him crazy, Bull’s got jokes. Truly terrible puns that Dorian would swat him for if he weren’t also fingering him open.

Dorian’s not proud to admit how utterly _shot_ his concentration becomes, and he only slips further when Bull turns him around, his barrel chest pressed tight to Dorian’s sweaty back, and guides him carefully onto his cock. He nearly _mewls_ at the burning stretch in his thighs and ass, struggling to push back and take _more._

Everything is warm and slick and _good_ and he reaches back to grasp at a horn and lick at the other man’s teeth.

Bull presses a broad, calloused palm to the thin flesh at Dorian’s throat, the other dragging him down, down, down and he says, “Anyone ever tell you how fuckin’ perfect you are?”

He’s full. He’s so fucking full. Bull is everywhere, and everything, and in that moment, Dorian believes it.

-

By 9:40 AM, Bull is trying not to laugh as Josephine chews him out over the phone.

“It’s magnificent, truly. You’ve managed to start an entirely new _level_ of imbroglio with the one person more likely than you to have ‘Controversy’ tattooed across their backside.”

“Ah, well he doesn’t.” Bull says, running his fingers over the smooth, unmarked flesh of Dorian’s ass. The man shifts against him just slightly, his moustache ticklish against Bull’s chest as he continues tapping at his own phone.

“I can see that.” Josephine sighs, “Please just...tell me you didn’t _plan_ this.”

“Scout’s honor, Josie. Didn’t have a clue who he was until the goons showed up.”

“ _Goons?_ ”

Dorian glances up at him and Bull sticks his tongue out. He sees the shorter man mouth the word _child_ before turning back to whatever it is he’s doing.

“There’s some family shit going on. I, uh...don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“You know I’ll find out anyway.”

“You’ll have to ask Leliana, then, ‘cause it won’t be from me.”

“Bull, I understand and admire your dedication to…’free love’,” Bull can practically _hear_ the air quotes as she makes them, “But this is perhaps a situation more delicate than you are suited for.”

“I don’t know, Josie. I think I’m suited just fine.”

Dorian grins, turning the screen so that Bull can see what he’s working on. “Ludwig or Valencia?”

Bull covers the receiver for a moment to answer, “Dunno. I kinda like it natural. Lets the colors speak for themselves.”

“What colors?” Josephine snaps. “ _Bull,_ tell me you’re not _updating._ ”

“Not me.”

-

Five minutes later, Josephine _actually screams_ when her assistant shows her the latest post to Dorian Pavus’ Instagram feed.

The photo shows Dorian, glowing with sweat and satisfaction (and, all right, some residual glitter,) smiling a fucked out smile. His hair is mussed and his eyes are half-closed as Bull buries his face against his neck from behind, adding the latest in what is apparently a series of angry purple-red bruises across warm brown skin.

The caption reads, **@hunglikea All I did was make breakfast. You didn’t need to get me anything. #ridethebull #areyouhappynow #daddy**

Then, almost as an afterthought in the comments: **@Fel9 @Maehem SUFFER.**

“Stop smiling!” Josephine growls. “I can hear you smiling. Cullen is going to have a _heart attack_.”

Bull’s too busy laughing into the damp skin of Dorian’s shoulder to respond.

-

**Dorian why did you tag me?**

**Dorian WHY**

**WHY IS IT TAGGED 'DADDY'**

_At least you didn’t need to google it for him._

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix's username is a play on Roman numerals. Fel- IX (9).
> 
> If anyone can come up with anything less completely awful that doesn't also make me cry, I'll gladly change it. <3
> 
> (Also you know Maevaris is an alternative supermodel/activist with her wonderful bratlings and her loving husband. <3)


	4. I Got It From My Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude in Tweets. 
> 
> (Or, as Mal said: Because the aesthetic of Dorian's Instagram is him in a shirt with his ass out. CLEARLY.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, credit for riding my ass goes to EarlGreyer, Jack-the-Giant-Killer, and Maledictum. 
> 
> Now with fanTASTIC illustrations by Lonicera-Caprifolium! [GO GIVE THIS GLORIOUS ORGANISM MONEY FOR ART. DO IT. OUO](http://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com/)

Bull very much enjoys taking care of Dorian, from back rubs to long talks and on until morning. But he especially loves giving him little gifts and watching his eyes light up—better still when his lips curve up in one of his wicked little grins.

But the best—the absolute _best—_ is when Dorian shows off his little presents.

Today is a good day.

He remembers the look on Dorian’s face when he unfolded the t-shirt _—_ a quick purchase while Bull was off at an away game _—_ and the way he’d cuddled the soft fabric to his chest. It’d been a good choice.

He thumbs over the screen, smiling as he looks back over Dorian’s Twitter thread.

 **portraitofdoriangay tweeted:** _Went to pick up milk and an obscene quantity of Oreos at the grocery, as you do. Heard a truly impressive disgusted sigh._

 **portraitofdoriangay tweeted:** _Being the total drama whore you know and love, I looked to find -- Disgruntled Soccer Mom, runny-nosed child in tow._

 **portraitofdoriangay tweeted:** _(Honestly woman please medicate your child. It’s leaking. And touching things.)_

 **portraitofdoriangay tweeted:** _She says, “You’re how many years old and your father still lets you wear that?”_

 **portraitofdoriangay tweeted:** _So I told her._

**portraitofdoriangay tweeted:** _My father didn’t buy me this shirt._ **_@hunglikea_ ** _Aren’t you proud?_

 

and then

 

 **hunglikea retweeted:** **_@portraitofdoriangay:_ ** **_My father didn’t buy me this shirt._ **

_That’s my_ **_#babyboy_ **

 

 **Maehem:** **@portraitofdoriangay @hunglikea** _You’re both going to hell for this. I’m going to hell for looking at this._

 **  
Fel9** _:_ **@portraitofdoriangay** _WHY CAN’T YOU WEAR PANTS. WHY._

 

_-_

 

Bull tucks a hand under the waistband of his pants, kicks back, and waits for Josie's phone call. 

_Worth it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be going back to aggressively add pretty pictures now. <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr.](http://anabundanceofstilinskis.tumblr.com/)


End file.
